Not a Perfect Soldier, But a Good Man
by DjDangerLove
Summary: One-shot: Only family can let you go and carry you at the same time. When Steve is injured in battle, he begins to understand. No slash. Rated T just in case.


**Set after Avengers, before Winter Soldier.**

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**Not a Perfect Soldier, But a Good Man**

"_Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. You will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man."_

Steve doesn't move. Maybe it's because there's an alien using his neck as a stress relief ball, or maybe it's because Dr. Erksine's words are tumbling around in his head like broken pieces of one of those Rubik's Cubes that Stark's always pushing into his hands with a devilish grin when they're recuperating from a mission at the Tower. Either way, he doesn't intend to fight back, doesn't lift red-gloved hands to pry at the extraterrestrial's arm, doesn't kick his strong legs to find a weak spot in the thing holding him hostage. He doesn't do anything, because he's not a perfect soldier.

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are surrounding them with their weapons drawn with full intention of using them regardless of the body count. Off in the distance, it sounds like the Hulk's rage is being vocalized in a window rattling roar, but Steve isn't convinced that it isn't his own blood rushing in his ears. He barely manages to let his eyes drift to the building to his left, the only building that still has windows that aren't shattered, just to test his theory. The windows rattle until they're in tiny pieces covering the ground and the agents below. His eyes slowly wander back to the monster holding him around the throat like an angry drunk holds the neck of a liquor bottle and he wonders if he, too, will shatter like the windows. He doesn't fight back though. He's not a perfect soldier and maybe, just maybe, S.H.I.E.L.D. will see that he's not. But he doubts they will ever realize that Captain America isn't who they want him to be, because they're too busy looking at Iron Man to notice a flawed soldier.

Tony, incased in his beloved suit of iron, is held by another vile creature as if he's a matchbox and the alien's staff, one end pointing at Stark, the other pointed at Steve, is the match itself preparing to light up the city with an iron torch. Steve isn't sure if someone's repeating Bruce's earlier warnings of what could happen to Tony if the staff were to come into contact with the arc reactor or if the scientist's words are toppling over Dr. Erksine's in his head, but either way the sentence still ends with death and Steve's still not a perfect soldier.

So when the alien leans closer, breath competing with the smell of concentration camps back in the war, Steve stares at him through half-lidded, oxygen deprived eyes and doesn't move, doesn't take the shot he knows he has that will result in him being dropped like discarded baggage. Instead, he watches his abductor's mouth move menacingly when it says, "What will you do now, Captain? You or him? Continue to fight? Avenge your country only to condemn your friend? What kind of soldier are you?"

The world is drowning out, but getting louder all at the same time. The sounds of thunder as lightening cracks across the sky, bullets firing from a gun that Steve has seen in use too many times, the sharp whiz of precise arrows, and uncontrolled rage being ripped from an enormous throat all swirl in his ears like a lazy jazz song playing through the vintage radio in his room at Stark Tower that Tony insisted he didn't track down for a month because it was exactly like the one in Rogers' childhood home. He lets it wash over him like the summer heat did that poured through his bedroom window he use to sit at while watching all the other neighborhood kids play baseball in the street. Maybe that's why he manages a small grin when he replies, "An imperfect one."

The alien is pleased, or perhaps Pepper is actually telling the truth when she says that he has an infectious grin if only he'd show it more. There's a few seconds filled with wishing that he could see Pepper one last time. He thinks it's odd that he would wish to see anyone but Peggy on his deathbed, but he recalls sitting on a barstool in the kitchen of the Tower, hands mindlessly working over a warm cup of hot chocolate that Ms. Potts declared the best remedy for a man fearful of the cold. In the memory, she's leaned over on the bar, propped up on her forearms, and every time his eyes wander to the window behind her that reveals the icy weather outside, her soft hand catches his chin, guiding it back to her, and she's grinning like she can make all the cold go away, outside or in. She asks him things about his previous life that bring a smile to her face, and tells him embarrassing things about Tony that bring a smile to his. He knows she never saw him as Captain America, and he wishes for one last chance to sit across from someone who treats him a lot like Bucky did without caring about the damaged soldier inside of him.

"You have chosen wisely, _Super Soldier_," the alien confirms, before turning his head to the other holding Tony and commanding, "Let him go. The Captain has agreed." He isn't sure why there's a noise that sounds a lot like chaos bursting from a pack of watchdogs. It could be because he's going against every order that's been shouted at him from his teammates and S.H.I.E.L.D. alike, but he catches the sound of iron hitting pavement in the midst of it all before he feels the sharp end of an extraterrestrial staff plunged into his chest. He manages to gasp in pain and is vaguely aware that it shouldn't have been possible when being choked to death before he feels himself floating through the air. It feels like every bit he imagined it would after watching Bucky fall off that train and he finds himself yearning for that sudden impact that will take it all away because he wasn't the perfect soldier he needed to be then, and he certainly isn't now.

But the impact isn't hard. It's softer than he imagined, and it doesn't get rid of anything except the slight numbness he had found while falling. It's jarring, big, and green, and he can't help but pray that Bucky's fall didn't end like this because he's crumpling under the pain in his chest and finally manages to fight, but he's not fighting for his life. He's fighting for an end, and that's not the instincts of an ideal soldier.

He works his mouth, but it's like his words were left on the ice he was found in, frozen and meaningless. His hands finally manage to make purchase on something and he pulls and tugs and jerks for whatever, whoever, has him to just rid the world of a helpless soldier, but the jarring, big, and green thing is suddenly gentle, normal, and tan and it's pressing where it hurts in more ways than one. He manages to clear his vision enough to see what kind of monster wants a soldier like him, but suddenly human eyes are staring down at him and he freezes in every sense of the word, because the reflection in the brown irises are lot like Pepper's when she pulls his gaze away from the window and he begins to feel like something other than a defeated soldier.

There are words spilling from the mouth above him, things he thinks he should be able to understand, but their meaning he can't just quite grasp. It's like Tony and all of his references, but it's not Tony hovering above him. "Stay with me, Steve. You're gonna be okay," is swirling in his ears, and although he doesn't know what that means, he understands that it's important because those eyes never leave his, just like Pepper never lets him look outside when it is snowing. He brings a shaky hand from the ground but as soon as he loses contact with whatever is beneath him, he can't control the flailing motion of the limb until it's held securely in and against something much warmer than himself. The world is fading, pouring into abstract art and blending into darkness, but he shakes himself because even though the edges are morphing into a place he had been begging to go, the center of it is still dark, round, and pleading like they want something from him. "_That's my secret, Cap," _he jerks violently at the memory, but the man who is always angry just readjusts his grip on the trembling form in his arms. He wants to apologize, but he just knows that's not what the man holding him wants. A secret, perhaps? Steve never shares secrets, never says things like, "_But you can't. I know. I tried, _" when someone indirectly insinuates that they might need to be killed. He wonders if sharing a secret will make Bruce Banner feel less angry for once in his life, so he swallows, not remembering when something thick and coppery began coating his throat and stutters, "I'm not a perfect soldier, Dr. Banner. That's my secret."

It's a week before he finds his way out of the darkness, another before he is convinced he's still in the twenty-first century and none of his friends are dead. It's three days after that that he manages to come to terms with the fact that whatever power was driven into his chest by the alien staff affected the serum so that his recovery will be slow and painful, like everything else in life. He's reassured by the doctors and Fury that he will return to being Captain America, no doubt about it from their perspective. Steve nods when they say things like, "Only a matter of time, Cap. You'll be back on the front lines," because they aren't wrong. He'll be standing there when the medicine kicks in and sends him off to that place right before the abyss where everything he's ever loved turns to monstrous visions and everything he hates turns to desperate desires. He'll wake up and feel more exhausted than when he fell asleep because it takes a lot of effort for a dispirited soldier to fight his way through battles.

Dr. Banner is there when he opens his eyes to what everybody quickly reassures him is the land of the living, but Bruce is folded into a hard plastic chair like he's come up with some sort of scientific breakthrough to incorporate furniture into the human body structure. However, the way he detaches himself from the inanimate object like kicking off a flannel blanket in the heat of the desert when he realizes that the soldier is awake reminds Steve that he's shared a deep, dark secret with the man and he wonders if that's why he's always there. But the scientist never mentions the secret, never tells him he's gonna be back in his stars and stripes in no time, or that the choices he made on the battlefield were that of a horrible soldier.

Bruce asks him questions, listens to the automatic answers patiently before asking once more, then listens again without trying to pump more medicine into him, or tell him he's going to be okay when he gets undesired answers. He changes the subject to scientific jargon that Steve can't follow, but can undoubtably hear and the injured soldier decides it's a lot like Pepper turning his head away from the window so that maybe he can start to feel like Steve Rogers again.

He's been out of the hospital two days when he finds himself sitting at the island of the kitchen in the Tower. He's dressed in sweatpants, socks, and a loose fitting shirt that's thin enough that its weight doesn't cause his chest wound anymore physical pain. He's still working on the figurative part, but he thinks that's why he's sitting on the barstool instead of laying in bed, or slumped on the couch. He's always found the answers to who Steve Rogers is when he's sat there, but today he doubts that he will because Pepper is out trying to smooth things over with the press and there's no hot chocolate in the cabinet. So he just sits there, hunched over, hands laying empty on the counter, and staring out the window at the snow falling from the sky, still wishing for that one last chance to have someone help him find out who Steve Rogers is.

He imagines his wishes like ashes falling in between the snowflakes outside when Tony Stark walks into the kitchen with a quip on his tongue. He doesn't move, much like the frozen soldier he use to be and the frozen soldier he was when he had to choose between the billionaire or himself to receive an alien staff through the chest. He tracks the man with his eyes rolled up glaringly so that he doesn't have to lift his head, because Tony's voice is grating his eardrums with patriotic words placed in playful jabs, and he wants to tell Tony to shut up, but he can't seem to make his mouth move. The self-proclaimed playboy seems to thrive off the glare instead and continues rambling on about things Steve doesn't get, but it isn't anything like Dr. Banner's science stuff, or Pepper's gentle hand on his chin, so he just stares out the window with the hopes that the man will get bored with Steve Rogers and walk away.

He has to stare a long time, because Stark isn't going anywhere. In fact, he's made himself comfortable on the barstool next to him saying anything other than the 'thank you' he's heard the others encourage him to say during whispered conversations when they thought he was asleep. But suddenly, a hand with small scars characterizing the skin is in front of his face with the fingers snapping to get his attention. It's irritating, but he turns his gaze away from the window to look at the man beside him silently, because he thinks that's what Steve Rogers would do.

"I know you know what I've been trying to tell you so how about we skip that part, and let me tell you something that you don't know, hmm?" Stark's question is blunt, but oddly gentle, and Steve feels himself sinking into the barstool a bit more as if he's able to relax somehow. He nods his head once, because somehow Steve's beginning to feel like Pepper's about to walk through the door and talk to him like he's her son or younger sibling and he doesn't mind when it's her forgetting he's a ninety year old man.

Pepper never comes, but either it's the fact Tony realizes that the kitchen island belongs to her and Steve somehow, or that Steve suddenly can't hold himself up on the stool any longer that causes Stark to wrap an arm around him and haul him to the couch without saying whatever it is that Steve doesn't know. He's vaguely aware of being eased onto the plush piece of furniture when the man moving him says something that ends in, "Kid."

He knows he should say something with his forehead creased in annoyance, but there's something being draped on top of him and it's starting to chase the cold away so he remains silent and sinks into it. But then, there's something warm gently plopping down beside him close enough that he seems to forget about being cold. He fingers the blanket anyway, twisting it for a reason he can't remember, because he feels like that weak, scrawny, sickly kid back in Brooklyn wanting to go outside and play baseball, but having to stay inside by the window. It's not a bad feeling, because he feels the heat from the sun warm him and Bucky is sitting beside him acting like he could care less about playing baseball even though he loves it. Steve is sick and Bucky still says, "You're better than any of them."

He opens his eyes because he has to tell Bucky that it's not right to lie, but his best friend isn't there. Tony Stark is and somehow he's managed to lean against him so maybe that's why the 'older' man's arm is around him. He has the dignity to try and move away, but there's a sharp pain in his chest again and it mocks him, makes him bury into his teammate's side with a groan that causes more pain. He feels trapped again, frozen even, and he just wishes that someone would let him go, but carry him at the same time. He can barely make out Tony saying, "Take it easy, Spangles. It'll get better if you quit moving. I promise," and he wants to believe it so bad, because he's never been told that it gets better if you just sit back and do nothing. He stills himself, trying regain his breath without moving his chest, while praying that Tony is right. His prayers are answered a few minutes later and he's back to just being tired. He manages to move his mouth enough to mumble, "Thank you," and although a 'you're welcome' isn't spoken, there's a hand that ruffles his hair the way Bucky use to and Tony says, "Sure, but just so you know, this isn't my gratitude to you for saving my life. No. That comes later, when you realize that those patriotic colors you love so much don't make you Captain America and we can all suit up together and kill the sons of extraterrestrial bitches who did this to our Capsicle, because while you may not be a perfect soldier, you're a good man and that's worth avenging."

He sits there a moment, buried in the side of a man that he never thought he could be friends with until he realizes that only family can carry you and let you go at the same time, and that's exactly what Tony has done. So, Steve just mumbles what he hopes sounds like, "Okay," and falls asleep feeling like Captain America and Steve Rogers are the same person, not a perfect soldier, but a good man.

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AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.


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